So I finally got out of Milwaukee on Thursday around 1pm.  Only 4 days and 4 hours later than I’d wanted.  Not bad!  The ride up to Minocqua was uneventful – just BORING.  Straight roads and wanting to get there.  Not a good combo.

But, it was worth it, and the recharge day was needed.  It was mostly good friends, great

margaritas, and red-faced laughter-filled late nights.  My stomach muscles still hurt.  That might be from the twenty licorice sticks…

Not my smartest move, but it did convince Eitel to make another batch of margaritas. Who's the sucker now? I kicked my licorice habit AND got another marg.

And who knew that big-faced, short-limbed, noisy eating women smelling of elephant in rut could be so funny?

And the view isn’t bad either…

The most excitement came on Friday when I mentioned (apparently too loudly and in the wrong company) that I was going to take the canoe out for a bit of fishing.  Apparently boys between 4 and 10 have incredible hearing combined with a blind desire to do absolutely anything as long as it’s something.  So, off I go in a canoe with three boys, all the leaches we can carry, four rod and real sets, a full tackle box, and fear (me not them).  Yes, I am outnumbered, alone, and without a lifeline.

The men are fishing. Do not disturb the concentration.

Not being a father, I don’t spend a ton of time with kids other than with my nephews and niece, but that’s usually surrounded by the family and safety in numbers.  This was just me.  Me against them.  And it was pretty great.  The advantage I have from not spending so much time with kids is being more affected by their overwhelming, undiluted sense of wonder.  It was never about the outcome – it was never about the fish.  It was just about the doing of it.  We could have been fishing in a pool.  Hell, we could have been fishing in a bucket.  I’m not totally convinced that they all even really knew why we were out there.  Or maybe they knew, but they just didn’t care.

The questions and comments were rapid-fire and relentless, and I soon found myself three questions and two knots behind.  “Hey Mr. Wags, do leaches bite?  Hey Mr. Wags, I can make a wake when I put my hand in the water.  Hey Mr. Wags, can I cast sidearm?  Hey Mr. Wags, can we pick up that jug floating out there?  Hey Mr. Wags, can I paddle now?  Hey Mr. Wags, remember when I fell off the seat?  Hey Mr. Wags, why aren’t you fishing?”

Wow.  So awesome.  And yea, the line never made it to my rod.  I was able to put the pieces together, but I never attached the reel.  That was a battle not worth fighting.  And my friends trusting me to take their kids out into the lake, well, that meant a lot (or my friends are morons).

All smiles!!

After the “fishing” and a perfect taco dinner followed by more gut laughs, we called it a night, and I got on the road the next day under ominous skies that let loose the rain within twenty minutes.  Great start.  These foreboding skies did not help the usual inertia that occupies the moments before every cycle trip.  Leaving the safety and comfort for the unknown at high speeds on two wheels generates some anxiety every time.  The internal conversation begins.  Eric, do you really want to do this?  Why?  You were having so much fun.  What’s the point? But there’s something there that knows you need to go and have to go and will be glad if you do, and you listen to it.  And moments later, like pulling a magnet away from metal, the gravitational pull is gone, and you’re on the road.  Alone.  Giggling.  In your helmet.  Thank God for helmets.  No one to see the lunacy.

The rain ended quickly enough, and I even found a few miles of dirt road.  Why we pave all these country roads is beyond me, and it’s got to come back to haunt us.  The Canadian roads have ZERO construction and are in perfect shape.  Must be their mild weather.

So, now I’m off, on the road.  Hopefully to Thunder Bay tonight.  Late start won’t help, but it doesn’t really matter to where I travel tonight.  I’m alone with no obligations.  A copilot would be nice, but too many roads to wait.  I say f@ck you Jobu.  I do it myself…  I leave meow.